


Marvel One-Shots, Vol. 2

by sabinelagrande



Series: Marvel One-Shots [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Fantastic Four (Movieverse), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: A Little Bit Louder, A Little Bit Worse, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Multi, Second Verse Same As the First, Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 16,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More dribs and drabs from all around the MCU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stride of Pride - Thor/Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> It's been asked how to request a ficlet from me: feel free to head on over to [my tumblr askbox](http://stickthisbig.tumblr.com/ask) and ask away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [JeziBelle](http://ao3.org/users/jezibelle): _Thor/Natasha, “matters of etiquette”_

It's awkward, two people together in the tower who have absolutely no sense of shame.

It is clearly not awkward for the God of Thunder and his companion, who are just as happy as hell. It's funny for awhile, the way Thor will just pick her up and carry her away mid-conversation, or the way she'll climb him like a tree and steer him out of the room. It's less funny when Tony can't sleep because he can hear them banging from three floors away, which, while a very impressive feat, isn't exactly how he'd like to spend his nights.

At least Thor has an excuse; certainly things on Midgard aren't the way they are on Asgard. For all Tony knows, this is young love for him- he has, however, been known to use the "ignorant alien" thing for all it's worth, so Tony has his doubts.

Natasha's excuse, as far as Tony can tell, is that everybody is too scared of her to say something but Clint, who is endlessly entertained. It is a very effective excuse.

One morning, as Natasha does the Stride of Pride wearing nothing but a cape and a thong, Tony thinks that maybe he should actually make some rules about this kind of thing.

Then he lays down and has JARVIS take his temperature. Something is wrong with all of them.


	2. Craftsmanship - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [amberfoxfire](http://amberfoxfire.tumblr.com): _Clint has a hobby._

"Don't you say a fucking word, Coulson," Clint snaps, though it's hard to take him seriously when he's brandishing a pair of tweezers.

Phil holds up his hands. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"You better not," he says; his righteous anger loses something with the way he carefully sets his tools down on the table, careful not to upset anything. "And just what the fuck are you doing in here?"

"You left the door unlocked," Phil says.

"And that's your permission to just barge in?" Clint asks indignantly.

"Around here, picking locks is how we knock," Phil tells him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Clint says defensively. "It's nothing."

Phil takes in all the little pieces on the table, the shapes of them. "Is this what I think it is?"

"And what if it is?" Clint challenges.

"It just doesn't seem like you," Phil tells him.

"Well, it is," Clint says. "So if you'd leave me alone, I'd appreciate it."

Phil doesn't, of course; he takes Clint's spare chair, spinning it around and sitting backwards in front of his desk. Clint sighs in annoyance, going back to his work, pointedly ignoring Phil, no matter how much Phil stares.

If he wants to build a ship in a bottle, then by god he will build a goddamned ship in a bottle, and not his handler nor anyone else will stop him.


	3. Scheduled - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [dizmo](http://ao3.org/users/dizmo): _Phil and Pepper’s Quarterly Life Commiseration Meeting._

"Absolutely not," Pepper said.

"That won't be possible, Director," Phil said.

"You can bother me for the next month if you want, but this afternoon I am not taking your or JARVIS's calls."

"All my briefings have been rescheduled, and Agent Sitwell has been notified that he will be the senior agent on call."

"Good bye, Tony."

"I expect to return to base by 2100, Director."

The meeting took place quarterly, held in one of Stark Industries' satellite offices. It was strictly closed doors, completely off limits to anyone but Agent Coulson and Ms. Potts, and speculation as to the events that occurred ran rampant. That day was no exception; Agent Coulson was ushered in amid copious whispers.

Pepper stood to receive him. "Phil," she said warmly. "Did you bring the stuff?"

Phil held up his suitcase. "Got it right here." Pepper held out a hand. "Which one do you want?"

"Did you get blue?" Pepper asked.

"How could I forget the blue?" Phil said, taking the bottle out and handing it to her. She cracked it open and took a swig, not even bothering with the pretense of pouring it into a glass.

Phil took off his suit jacket and sat down at the other end of the table, pulling out his own bottle of Boone's Farm, a vibrant green one that tasted mostly like gummy worms. He loosened his tie, pushing out the chair next to him and putting his feet up on the expensive leather. He opened his own bottle, and they drank in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"If I killed Tony," Pepper said, "you could cover it up, right?"

"I would do my very best," Phil told her. "Accidents happen. If I killed him, would you be mad?"

"Well, if someone's going to kill him, I feel like I have first dibs," she said.

"True," Phil said, sipping from his bottle again. "You've certainly put up with him the most."

She sighed. "Don't I know it."

"Drink your." Phil paused. "I was going to say wine, but this doesn't come anywhere close to counting. Drink your juice. You'll feel better."

"To good whatever this is and good company," she said, tipping her bottle to him. "May it get us through the next three months."

Phil raised his green to her. "Let us all hope and pray."


	4. Ribbit - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [theleaveswant](http://ao3.org/users/theleaveswant): _any characters, “wait! my friends need to suck on those frogs!”_

Don't ask how they end up fighting a villain who launches hallucinogenic frogs at them.

Really, don't, because the answer is kind of a letdown, because he is possibly the lamest villain they have ever fought. He doesn't even rate the title of "super" in front of his name; the only reason this wasn't solved by the NYPD is that they have better things to do.

And, y'know. It's always better when they can manage to bring home a victory without massive property damage. Looks better in the papers.

So SHIELD is cleaning up, catching loads of brightly-colored frogs in nets to be sent off to god knows where to do god knows what- knowing SHIELD, there is some frog overstock protocol that is being followed, and if there isn't they are presently making it up and writing it down.

"It's a shame," Bruce says, watching the agents go by with another big, ribbiting load. "I doubt we'll get to do any research on their hallucinogenic properties now. Can you imagine the red tape we'll have to go through to get any of them back?"

Bruce knows by the glint in Tony's eyes that it was the wrong thing to say. Tony immediately goes running off after the clean-up crew. "Wait!" he shouts. "My friends need to suck on those frogs!"

"Well," Natasha says.

"It's funny," Bruce says thoughtfully.

"Oh, it's fucking hilarious," Clint says.

Bruce shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. It's funny," he says, half-smiling, "he just called us friends."


	5. Routines - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [shadowen](http://ao3.org/users/shadowen): _Phil has a morning routine. Tell me about it. :)_

**December 6, 2007**

_0500_

Awake.

_0520_

Showered.

_0525_

Teeth brushed.

_0540_

Dressed.

_0545_

Bed made.

_0550_

Messages checked.

_0600_

Reached SHIELD central control. Began duties.

 

**December 6, 2012**

_0415_

"Hey."

"Clint, I'm going to kill you if you don't let me sleep."

_0510_

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"You said you wanted to sleep, so I turned off your alarm."

"Goddammit, Clint."

_0512_

"So, hey."

"Stop giving me that look."

"What look?"

"You know what look. We had sex not six hours ago. It's too soon to come bothering me for it again."

_0520_

"Oh god, Clint."

"Yeah, is that what you want? Right there?"

"Do it _harder_ -"

_0540_

"Shit, do you know how late I am?"

_0550_

"Where's my other shoe?"

"What other shoe?"

"The left one, the one that goes with this one."

"You have like six pairs of black dress shoes. How do you even tell them apart?"

"All shoes are not created equal."

"I don't think you have time for a fashion lecture today."

_0555_

"Knock 'em dead."

"That's the idea, more often than not."

_0601_

"You're late."

"I'm sorry, Director."

"Tell Barton to keep it in his pants. We've got work to do."

"Yes, Director."

"Please stop calling me 'Director' when you fuck up."

"Will do, Nick."

"I see why you and Barton go together now. Whole pack of smartasses."

"A brace."

"What?"

"A grouping of two animals is called a brace. We're a brace of smartasses."

"Go do some work, Phil."

"On my way."


	6. Free Pass - Clint/Coulson, Phil/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [eryr-efydd](http://eryr-efydd.tumblr.com): _Cap was on Phil’s fantasy list of people to sleep with without it being cheating. But now Cap lives one floor down, and Clint is conflicted._

It had been a joke, of course, when Clint said it, the idea of the "free pass" list. It had been one of those jokes that Phil took seriously, and Clint could never tell the difference between the times when Phil did that because he genuinely didn't understand and the times when he was totally fucking with Clint.

He suspected that ninety percent of them were in the latter category.

Clint's list is, shall we say, expansive, despite the fact that he keeps having to tick people off when he finds out Tony's slept with them- he would have gladly gone for a long time not knowing how similar his tastes were to Tony Stark's, but his life is a strange one. Phil's list is considerably shorter; when they made them, Phil took his piece of paper, wrote down exactly two names, and passed it back to Clint. Just as soon as Clint stopped laughing at him, he'd agreed wholeheartedly, and that was the end of it.

It was just that at the time, Clint thought that Giada De Laurentiis was way, way more likely.

But now, here they are, alone in their bedroom in the tower. It's late and they're in bed, and Phil is determinedly trying to, y'know, get sexy with him, which in Phil's case usually consists of grabbing Clint's dick and whispering something filthy in his ear, a strategy that is usually incredibly effective. 

Tonight, though, Clint's mind is elsewhere; Clint's mind is firmly resting one floor down, where his teammate and friend is probably having sweet, untroubled, patriotic dreams. One floor down, where lies the myth, the legend, the _asshole_ that his husband would gleefully sleep with, Clint be damned.

Phil pulls away from him. "If you don't want it, you can say so," he says, having the good grace not to look annoyed.

"Sorry," Clint says, wincing. "I just- I was distracted." Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "Not that it wasn't interesting or anything, I just-" Phil's face doesn't change. "Uh, I love you?"

"I'm going to sleep," Phil says, lying back down and turning away.

"Hey, don't be like that," Clint says, spooning up behind him and kissing the back of his neck. "If it makes you feel any better, I was _definitely_ thinking about you."

Phil does seem somewhat appeased, though he'd never admit that there was even anything requiring appeasement at all. He turns back towards Clint. "What's up?"

Clint's a very good liar, but he realized a long time ago that lying to Phil just wasn't something he could do. "So, a while ago," Clint starts, and Phil waits patiently for whatever's next. It's just that he's got a while to wait, because Clint stalls out. "Look, do you want to fuck Steve or not?"

Phil looks at him in mild shock, which for Phil is pretty damn extreme. "What?"

"We made those lists," Clint says.

"Uh," Phil says, uncharacteristically lost for words. "I'd like that. A lot. I didn't think you still remembered."

It is at that point that Clint realizes he has shot himself directly in the fucking foot.


	7. Going Down - Phil Coulson/Johnny Storm

The first thing Johnny notices about him is his suit. He is, of course, _a_ suit, just some guy from the FBI or something who's pestering Reed about something Reed shouldn't be doing. But the suit he's _wearing_ is immaculately tailored, perfectly appropriate, way better than anything some random agent should be wearing.

Johnny's intrigued.

When the suit finally heads out, Johnny slips down the hall and into the elevator with him. He raises an eyebrow at Johnny and presses the lobby button; Johnny considers pressing every floor, but for once in his life, he shows a little restraint.

"Dolce?" Johnny says casually. "A little pricey for government work."

The suit gives him a half-smile. "We're not the government," he says, "but you should see our dry cleaning bill."

Johnny laughs, surprised that the guy actually has some life in him. "Johnny Storm," he says, not extending his hand; he's been told his handshake has gotten a little unsettling.

"I know," the suit says, and he doesn't put his hand out either.

"Come here often?" Johnny asks.

The suit raises an eyebrow at him. "Is that an invitation?" he returns, and Johnny laughs out loud.

"Could be, could be," Johnny says. "But I like to at least know a guy's name first."

"I'm Agent Coulson," he says, "from the-" and he gives a name, blah blah Homeland something, Johnny doesn't pay attention to it and won't remember it.

"Well, Agent Coulson," Johnny says, as the elevator dings and the door opens. "Feel free to drop by any time." Coulson gives him a smug little smile and steps out of the elevator.

And then Johnny looks past him into the lobby, and there's Captain America standing there- maybe he should say Steve Rogers, because it's not like he's wearing his star-spangled onesie, just a brown bomber jacket and a set of clothes that somebody's grandpa would pick out for them. Coulson walks up to talk to him, and when he turns to face him, Johnny can just see his expression; he doesn't have to see much of it to understand what it means.

Oh. So it's one of _those_ things.

The door shuts. Johnny rides back up alone.


	8. Boldly Go - Bruce/Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [JeziBelle](http://ao3.org/users/JeziBelle): _a) Tony gets tipsy and has Feelings b) trying to explain pop culture and/or science fiction to Steve and/or Thor_

"Doctor Banner," JARVIS says from on high. Bruce isn't actually doing anything when he starts talking, just doodling idly in StarkDraw while he thinks, but he's startled anyway. "You have a call from Mister Stark."

"Bruce," Tony's disembodied voice says, almost before JARVIS finishes talking, no prelude, and Bruce knows in an instant how this call is about to go.

"Tony," he says, rubbing his forehead. "You've been drinking."

"I've been drinking," Tony says. "That's not the point."

"What is the point, Tony?" Bruce asks. Tony's drunk calls never end well; maybe this one will at least be quick.

"Steve thinks Captain Kirk is an asshole."

Bruce frowns. "Did Steve say that?"

There's muffled arguing on the other end of the line. "He might as well have," Tony says. "He said he didn't understand why somebody would follow an asshole like that around, y'know, galaxies and stuff."

"You must have not explained it very well," Bruce says. "Were you telling him about the original series, or did you watch the new one?"

"He watched the new one without telling me," Tony moans. "I could have told him not to watch it without, y'know, context for the situation and how it _actually_ happened and everything, but he was just confused and now he doesn't understand that Kirk is a _good_ guy and Kirk and Spock are _friends_."

Bruce sighs. "This is why you shouldn't try to explain things when you're drunk, Tony, especially not to Steve."

"If that is the least bad thing I do today everybody should be happy as hell," Tony says, and Bruce can't argue with him. "But look, that's not why I called. I mean, it _is_ why I called, but-" Tony sighs, the way he does when he's frustrated with himself, with the way his mouth doesn't keep up with his brain.

"I called because, because- Steve go away, I'm trying to have a fucking moment here and you're not invited," he snaps, and Bruce can hear him walking, a door opening and closing. "Look, I don't want you to not be Spock, okay? If I'm an asshole- I'm an _asshole_ , Bruce, I'm way worse than Kirk- I hope I'm still a good enough asshole that you'd come with me. Because Kirk without Spock is, is, it's a waste of fucking time."

The words reverberate through the lab, big and heavy, and Bruce can hear how much is behind them, can practically hear Tony ripping out his heart from here.

"You're an asshole, Tony," Bruce says, "but I'd go with you anyway."

Tony sighs. "I- thank you." He pauses. "I don't want to see the sequel if they're just gonna fight again. I don't care if Zachary Quinto's really fucking hot."

"I'll find spoilers," Bruce promises. "Drink some water, okay."

"Okay, okay," he says dismissively. "I'll talk to you later, alright? I think I was just a dick to Steve."

"You're learning," Bruce says dryly.

"Now who's being an asshole?" Tony says. "Anyway, bye."

"Goodbye, Tony," Bruce says, but the call has already ended.

He really has no idea what it was about, except for everything.


	9. Special - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [amberfoxfire](http://amberfoxfire.tumblr.com): _So, O how did Clint and Phil meet, anyway?_

In his life, Clint's been screwed out of a lot of special events.

Didn't make it to his first day of kindergarten. Never graduated high school. First love lasted about a week. Lost virginity, nothing to write home about. First time he killed somebody, mostly just mad he tore his favorite shirt.

Being recruited for SHIELD wasn't particularly special either; one minute he was in jail and the next he was in the middle of a secret base, ready for some kind of serious shit to go down. He remembers very clearly, though, the first time he saw his handler, the electric thrill that went through him when Fury introduced them, the way they locked eyes, the tacit thing between them strong enough that Clint was dead sure he was imagining it.

_Christ_ , Clint thought. _Here we go again._

Years go by, and Clint realizes he screwed that one up for himself, because he just couldn't believe it was true, that it could possibly be real, that you could even have love at first sight. But now he's at his first wedding, which better goddamn be his last, and this man, this incredible, unexpected, mind-blowingly amazing man is standing in front of him, and he's looking at Clint like there's nothing but him, wasn't anything before him and won't be anything after him. 

And this makes up for everything, every missed chance, every lackluster occasion, because marrying Phil Coulson is the specialest motherfucking thing that has ever happened to Clint in his whole life.


	10. Sleep While I Drive - Clint/Coulson

"How far is it?" Clint asks, unlocking the doors and popping the trunk.

"About eight hours," Phil tells him. "You can sleep while I drive."

Clint stops. "Did you just quote Melissa Etheridge at me?"

"No," Phil says, too quickly.

"What, is being married to me just not gay enough for you?" Clint says gleefully. "Phillip Juliet Coulson, I am frankly ashamed."

Phil sighs, hefting his bag into the trunk and slamming it shut. "Why must you keep calling me that?"

"If you're not going to tell me your middle name, then I'm just going to keep using the NATO alphabet," Clint tells him officiously. "We have to maintain clarity, Agent."

Phil gives him an unamused look. "Just give me the keys and stop fucking around, Specialist."

"Fuck you, sir," Clint says, grinning. "Now get in the damn car. You can't drive for shit."

\--

"Jackett," Phil says, hours later.

Clint shakes his head, interrupted from his driving daze. "Huh?"

"My middle name is Jackett," Phil tells him.

Clint raises an eyebrow. "Phillip Jackett Coulson?"

"It's my mother's maiden name," Phil says. "We're traditional."

"Easy to make fun of," Clint remarks.

Phil sighs. "You have no idea."

"Also not your name," Clint says.

Coulson frowns at him. "What makes you say that?"

"You're a full-grown man, Juliet," Clint tells him. "You also haven't given a damn about being embarrassed by anyone in the entire time that I've known you. But you wouldn't even let me put your middle name on our wedding invitations."

"Clint, I didn't let you _make_ wedding invitations," Phil points out. "It was a security risk."

"My point stands," Clint says firmly. "You're the third-best liar I know, but you can't fool me. It's either much worse or much more mundane. It's probably Jay."

"If I tell you that it's Jay, will you leave me alone about it?" Phil asks.

"See, you should have done that before we started," Clint tells him. "I'm never going to believe it now."

Phil just rolls his eyes, but he doesn't move away when Clint puts his hand on his thigh.

\--

Of course Clint looks at the computer monitor next to Phil's hospital bed; if they didn't want him to, they should have done a much better job of hiding it and given it much better encryption. 

"This isn't how I wanted to find out," Clint says to himself. The sound is lost in the noise of the machines that are keeping Phil alive, the ones the doctors say he'll be off in good time, if everything goes to plan. They are the best machines that mankind has ever produced, and Clint loves them, the way they're saving Phil's life, the way they're saving Clint's too.

The nurses will be here to kick Clint out soon, but not quite yet; he stands at Phil's bedside, looking down at him. He doesn't look like Clint expected, not like a shell of himself like people in the hospital usually do. Except for the pallor of his skin and a hell of a lot of bruises, he looks like he could get up at any time and rip off all those tubes and wires, put on his suit, and go right back to work.

Knowing Phil, he might.

"Phillip Jay Coulson," Clint says, prodding Phil's side with a finger. "If you don't stay put, I'll kill you."

The nurse comes in just then, and he looks at Clint like he's lost his goddamn mind. "Gonna need you to clear out, Barton."

"Alright, alright," Clint says. He passes his hand over Phil's hair, smoothing it down. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promises. He straightens. "See you too, Watkins."

"I look forward to throwing you out again," Watkins says. "Go get some rest."

Clint leaves; it's straight to bed and straight back again, just like it's been all week, and nobody's said a single word about it.

Everybody knows better than to get between the two of them. They're kind of a thing.


	11. Roped In - Bruce/Tony/Pepper

"You can't actually do that, not for as long as you'd want to do it," Bruce said, not unkindly. "I don't want to rain on anyone's parade, but it's not advisable for long periods of time. It can lead to suffocation if the bottom's not moved."

"Then scratch the hogtie," Tony said. "Alternate solution?"

"Frogtie," Bruce offered. "Ankles to thighs," he said, brushing his finger across Pepper's skin. "Wrists to biceps. Then you can put her on her elbows and knees and make her stay still-"

"But why would I do that when I can put her on her back," Tony said, "because then I can tie in and anchor the ropes to the headboard. Voilà, no closed legs."

"You see the advantages over the hogtie," Bruce said approvingly. "More versatile, less dangerous."

Tony smirked. "We're big fans of versatility here. Danger is another issue."

They continued to chatter at each other, planning this and that, and Pepper felt a little incensed, the way she always did when they talked over her head, acting as if she wasn't even there and didn't get any say. There were just two problems with that thought: one, she really didn't get a say; two, even if she had one, the gag would have made it a little hard to express.

She'd been instructed to lay on the bed and look pretty, and she knew very well that the quicker she was good, the quicker they could move on. She drew one of her knees up, letting her arms rest on the bed, writhing just a little for good measure. There was a difference between pretty and slutty, even while completely naked, and she'd do what was called for, no matter what it was.

Pepper was damn good at this.

"Would you do the honors?" Tony said finally, indicating the coils of rope laying next to Pepper on the bed.

"Gladly," Bruce said, reaching for one of them. It was usually Bruce who did the tying proper, because while Tony's single-minded focus made for quick work, he also had a history of getting tangled up and deciding that fuck a whole bunch of it. Bruce's work was precise and pleasing to the eye, clean lines, smooth passes.

Tony didn't wait for her to move, just took one of her legs and folded it at the knee, holding her down so Bruce could begin. She struggled a little, just for the look of the thing, just for what it did to Tony; not surprisingly, it earned her a hard smack on the thigh. "Settle down," Bruce said, in the calm, clinical voice that Pepper never knew could be such a turn-on. "You can struggle all you want after you're tied."

"Promise and a threat, right there," Tony said, avidly watching him work. "Jesus Christ, I don't understand how you can be so sexy doing that."

"It's a pretty sexy process, Tony," Bruce said, putting finishing touches on the bindings before moving on to the other leg. "Even better when there's a pretty, sexy woman in the middle of it."

Bruce began wrapping the rope around her leg again, carefully laying it against her skin, watching at every turn to make sure that it wouldn't cross or bind. It wan't exactly comfortable, but she was fairly flexible, and they had certainly put her in weirder positions before.

Bruce tied the last knot, and that was much as Tony can stand of hands off. He put his arms around Bruce's waist, biting gently at his neck. Bruce turned to kiss him, pulling him close. For all his composure, Bruce couldn't pretend like this wasn't affecting him; Tony made a soft noise as Bruce took over, grabbing his ass and grinding against him.

When he was satisfied, he let Tony go, and Tony reached for another coil, handing it to Bruce, stepping back so that Bruce could tie in to what he'd already done. Bruce tied the new rope in firmly, taking it with him as he walked to the head of the bed. The headboard was good and sturdy, open ironwork with plenty of places to anchor the rope. He pulled the rope through, taking the slack out of it, pulling until Pepper's leg moved. Tony did the same thing on the other side, and just like that she was all spread out, unable to move her legs.

"Better get her arms, or she'll just untie herself and wander off," Tony said. "Won't you?" Pepper shook her head. "Attagirl." He looked up at Bruce. "Do it anyway."

Bruce caught her wrist, doing a simple tie and anchoring it to the headboard; Tony repeated it on the other, careful despite his haste, slipping a finger in between her skin and the ropes to make sure she wasn't going to be hurt. They were good together, the two of them, two people on a strange wavelength ending up on the same one. Pepper was the lucky one, though, getting all that laser-beam focus directed right at her, double the almost gleeful experimental spirit that characterized them.

She'd always had a thing for mad scientists.

Tony stroked her calf, a soothing, grounding touch, gentle and calm despite the slightly evil look on his face. She'd have moved into it, smiled at him, but those were both out of the question right at the moment. She couldn't do anything at all except lay there, open and ready, completely at their mercy.

"Let's begin," Bruce said, and then they showed her exactly how merciful they really were.

(Not very.)


	12. Bumpy Ride - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [coffeesuperhero](http://ao3.org/users/coffeesuperhero): _Tony/Pepper, first date._

"Sex in a limo?" Pepper said incredulously.

"We were going to have _dinner_ in the limo, Pepper," Tony said, like she was the one being ridiculous. "At some point Happy is going to have to realize that Mommy and Daddy love each other very much and sometimes they love each other loudly in automobiles, but it can wait."

Pepper had gone well past the point of blushing at Tony's jubilation over and frequent need to announce the fact that they were finally together, but certain things were still a little much. "Tony."

"What?" he said innocently.

"We're not having dinner in the limo," she told him. "We're also not having sex in the limo."

"You just aren't getting my master plan," he said.

"Eating in the car is not a date, Tony," she insisted.

"It's not in the house, and you're not allowed to have your cell phone," he countered. "That's a date."

"I thought you wanted to show me off as much as you could," she said.

There was something in his eyes, a certain kind of frustration, the type she was very familiar with but could never quite understand. "That's not- What I'm trying-" He made motions with his hands that didn't explain anything at all. "You're not _seeing_ it right, Pepper."

"Tony," she said patiently, trying not to sigh. "You have to tell me what I'm not seeing, because I don't see it."

"I want everyone to know," he told her. "You'll probably have to stop me from taking out a Superbowl ad. But that's not- that's not a first date kind of thing."

She frowned at him. "How is it not?"

"Because it's not just for me and you," Tony said. "First dates are awkward and private. You're supposed to be getting to _know_ somebody. I don't need the entire world to be there if-" He stopped. "If it doesn't work."

It occurred to Pepper very suddenly that there was a ninety percent chance that Tony had never actually been on a first date in his life.

"You're taking me to Étienne's," she said firmly. "I'm renting out the entire place, and I'm going to let it accidentally be leaked that there's a closed-door meeting about a possible Stark Industries contract. You're going to sneak in through the kitchen. If I don't hear you ordering in your terrible French to impress me, I'm leaving."

Tony looked at her for a moment.

"My French is not terrible," he said.

She wrapped an arm around his waist. "Your French is abysmal."

"It's a deal," he said, kissing her as if to seal it. "Name a date and a time, and it's on."

"My people will call your people," she said, pulling him closer. "Later."

"Much later," he agreed.


	13. Right Hand - Fury/Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [royalfan](http://royalfan.tumblr.com), who wanted Fury/Maria with bickering.

They don't go on undercover missions anymore, either of them, because anyone who's anyone knows Nick Fury on sight; it's a little hard even in the cloak-and-dagger set to disguise a six-foot black man with an eye patch and a matching scar. Maria's harder to spot, having cultivated the attractive but unassuming look that SHIELD agents pride themselves upon. It's just her luck that the second she gets to the top of her game, Fury plucks her out of the field and relegates her solely to admin. It's bullshit, and she's pretty sure everyone who's paying attention knows it.

It's possible she's a little resentful of this fact; so far, she's mostly redirected her anger at the field agents, grilling them whenever she can, designing training schedules that are sometimes- she will admit this- almost impossible. If they're going to replace her, they're going to do as good as and better than she ever did, or they're going to be desk jockeys until the end of their days.

It's also possible that she's gone a little too far this time. Russell's scheduled to start a deep cover operation, a big one, one that could be make-or-break for their foothold in Belém. She's just not ready for it, so Maria's rescheduled it for her. Simple enough, it would seem, though more than likely a bridge too far; it's just that Maria doesn't care very much.

Russell, as it turns out, cares a lot, and she comes storming onto the bridge, her hands balled into fists. "Agent Hill," she says tightly.

"Agent Russell," Maria says, not pretending she doesn't know what this is about.

"I'd like an explanation," she says.

"There's a full explanation in the schedule change memo," Maria tells her.

Russell's jaw clenches. "If you'll permit me to speak freely for a moment-"

"I won't," Maria snaps.

She is not dissuaded. "You're not my fucking handler, and if you were, I'd ask for a transfer."

"Exactly what the fuck is going on here?" Director Fury asks, and it says something that Maria was so engrossed in this conversation that she didn't register his approach. 

"Director," Russell all but whines, and Maria rolls her eyes. "Agent Hill won't stop trying to run my operations for me."

"This doesn't happen on my watch," Fury says. "And when it does happen, it doesn't happen on my bridge."

"Sir, it's this kind of amateur behavior that can't be tolerated," Maria tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you're not going to monitor your agents-"

"Agent Hill, if I ever hear anything else like that come out of your mouth, I'll have you running the espresso machine in the commissary," Fury says. "Do I make myself clear?"

"With all due respect, sir," Maria says, "you can get your own damn coffee."

There's a long, tense moment, and then Fury laughs, loud and unembarrassed and slightly jarring. "Walk with me, Agent Hill."

He sets off, and she follows, despite the fact that she's fairly confident he's going to push her into the ocean. They walk silently for a moment, turning down the corridor to the living quarters, abandoned this time of day. He stops, and she pulls up short, a little startled. Fury looks her hard in the face, and it's very hard not to squirm under his scrutiny. "I only have one good eye," he tells her seriously. "I need my right hand. But if she keeps acting like an insubordinate asshole, I'm going to consider a transplant."

She doesn't point out that if he stretches that metaphor any further it'll snap. "Yes, sir."

"Are you right, or is Russell right?" Fury asks.

Maria frowns unhappily, knowing he'll pick up on a lie in an instant. "My assessment is correct, but it should've been Carvalho's call. She's heading up Belém."

"Then talk to Carvalho, and don't bring this shit into my house," Fury says.

"Yes, sir," she says, reasonably chagrined.

"Back to work," he says, turning and walking away, his coat swirling behind him.

Maria doesn't bang her head against the bulkhead, as much as she wants to; she just gets on the comm and calls Carvalho. As much as it bothers her, she'll do the right thing. She believes in SHIELD and she believes in Fury, and that's what matters.

She just didn't know Fury still believed in her.


	14. Actually - Fury/Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [ereshai](http://ereshai.tumblr.com): _C/C or Fury/Hill, get together_

There's a way these things are supposed to go. If you're going to fuck one of your fellow agents, it should be quick and rough and filthy; for preference, it should be up against a wall. Dirty safehouses are a favorite, as are back alleys, decontamination showers after experiences with aphrodisiacs, and any location where it's possible to be interrupted by Tony Stark.

Of all the people who should have had one of these excuses, who should have had the raunchiest, fastest, most dangerous sex imaginable, Fury and Hill are pretty far up the list. If it didn't start with a screaming match and end with bloodshed, then something had gone very wrong from the start. At the very least, it should have been extremely efficient and slightly joyless, fuck-and-get-it-over-with on a legendary scale.

It was exactly none of these things.

It wasn't anywhere illicit, wasn't anywhere public, just the small house that Maria kept for her very rare time off. He didn't show up drenched in rain with professions of love; they weren't even _drunk_ , for fuck's sake, which was the bare minimum of excuses.

But they fucked and it was good, satisfying, his body solid against hers, all muscles and hot, sweat-slick skin. She curled her legs around his hips and clutched at his back, and it was basically all either of them could have wanted in that moment, from that moment.

They held each other afterwards- they don't hate each other and they never have, possibly never will- but still no love professions, because they aren't in love. And then he left, and they went back to work, and no one was the wiser.

No one was the wiser about four times a week, but that's really neither here nor there.


	15. Gonna Be A Happy New Year - Clint/Coulson, Fury/Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [justicemuffins](http://justicemuffins.tumblr.com): _asdfgh Fury/Hill oh gosh. Is there anyway you can combine Fury/Hill and Capsicoul with two of the characters (up to you, of course) having a little water cooler discussion about how they spent New Year's Eve with their significant other?_
> 
> And then I misread the prompt and wrote Clint/Coulson instead. I hope you like it anyway?

"Did you have a good New Year's Eve?" Hill asks, pouring what must be a half a pot of coffee into her oversized cup.

Coulson watches her do it and says nothing, though he doesn't relish the idea of waiting for a fresh pot. He knows very well that the 'you' in that sentence is meant to be plural; that's the closest they'll get to acknowledging their respective relationships within possible earshot of other agents. "Oh, went out," he says blandly.

\--

"You said you wanted to watch the fireworks," Phil said, as Clint kissed his way down the side of Phil's neck, biting lightly at his shoulder.

"I'll show you fireworks," Clint said, pushing him back sharply, taking advantage of the distraction to undo Phil's pants and reach for his cock, stroking it quickly before he wrapped his mouth around it, licking and sucking and generally trying to blow his mind.

Phil looked up at the sky, trying to decide which part of his life was the most astonishing.

\--

"How about you?" he asks, emptying an anticipatory sugar packet into his mug.

Her hand stills for the briefest of moments. "Stayed in," she says.

\--

"They say that how you start the new year is how you'll spend it," Maria said, moving slowly up and down on him.

"And you decided to start it with my dick inside you," Fury said, curling his hands around her hips to encourage her, urging her faster. "What's that say about you?"

She didn't respond for a moment, too caught up in the feeling of it, the need that drove her on. "That I like to hedge my bets."

The sound of the chime was almost lost underneath his laughter. She gasped as he grabbed her by her thighs, pulling her down hard against him. "Happy fucking New Year."

She leaned down and kissed him. "That's the idea."

\--

"Sounds like a good time," Coulson says.

"Relaxing," Hill tells him.

He raises his cup, even though it's still empty. "Here's to a better 2013."

She gives him a secretive smile. "I'm pretty sure we're already off to a good start."


	16. Keep Up - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reading an [exquisite series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/33834) containing hotel hallway almost-sex, my silly brain, of course, cooked up something ridic.

"Wear flats," Tony said, as he watched her pack.

She gave him a look. "Why?"

He shrugged. "There are stairs."

Sixteen hours later and Pepper wishes he'd been more specific and emphatic; she'd worn kitten heels as a compromise, but she wouldn't have if he'd told her they'd be running halfway across Austria from surprisingly athletic security guards after an ill-advised tryst in the hallway of one of Vienna's finer hotels.

"You didn't tell me this was going to happen!" she hisses, as they pound down a flight of stairs towards an unmarked exit. 

"This happens all the time," Tony reminds her.

"It doesn't happen to _me_!" she pants

"You knew the risks when you took the job," he tells her, pushing the door open and running through it.

"I took the job six years ago!" she says, following him.

He flattens himself against the outside wall, and she follows suit. "Not _that_ job."

They stand perfectly still as the guards rush right past them, ignoring them in the semi-darkness of the alleyway. They pass, heading down the street and well away, and Pepper lets her head fall back against the wall, sighing gratefully.

Tony leers at her. "Wanna finish up?"

"I hate you," she pants.

"Didn't hear a no," he says, pulling her towards him. She's about to protest, but he finds this one devastating spot on her neck and bites down, and she forgets why she's supposed to.

The job does have its perks, after all.


	17. Wash - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny fill for [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org), prompt washing/cleaning.

"You're too good to me," Tony sighed, sinking deeper into the bathtub. Pepper's fingertips felt amazing swirling over his scalp, working the shampoo into his sweat-drenched post-battle hair.

"Yes, I am," Pepper told him, and while he was still freaking out over that statement, she pushed him down, dunking his head. When he came back up, gasping for air, she kissed the top of his head. "But you're good enough for me."


	18. Nailed It - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [theleaveswant](http://ao3.org/users/theleaveswant), who wanted something with toenail polish.

Tony doesn't go barefoot much, not when there are people around. He's gotten a little more lax about it, and Pepper feels quietly pleased about it, the trust implied in something simple like that. He's not even wearing socks when she comes and sits down next to him on the couch, bumping him companionably with her shoulder until he distractedly puts his arm around her, not looking up from his tablet.

She's about to speak, but then she looks down at his foot; his toenail is dark purple. "My god, Tony, what did you do to your foot?" she says, aghast.

"It's not a big deal," he mutters, jerking away from her.

"Let me see," she says, leaning in. "I told you you should be wearing steel toes in the workshop, Tony, you're going to break something."

"What?" he says, looking at her in complete confusion. He stares at her for a moment, and she can see something click in his head. He hops up, surprisingly springy for someone with a huge bruise under his toenail. "Look, nothing broken. Doesn't even hurt."

"Tony-" she starts, but he walks out, giving her a wave.

She sighs. It's going to be one of _those_ things.

It's barely two days before it comes up again. They're in the kitchen, chatting idly, mostly just making eyes at each other, and she happens to look down again. "You're bleeding," she says in alarm, looking at the red on his toe.

He looks down. "Shit," he says, like he's not concerned about it.

"Let me get you a bandage," she says.

"I've got it," he tells her, hurrying off to the first aid kit; she purses her lips, but she lets him go.

The next time, his toe is lime green.

"Okay, that's enough," she says. "You shouldn't be keeping anything in the house that's that color, and you certainly shouldn't be-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Tony says, putting his hand over his face. "Please don't make me spell this out for you. It's not a conversation I want to have."

She looks down at his foot again, and realizes very suddenly that she is the world's biggest idiot. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh,'" he says, crossing her arms, a challenging note in his voice that she doesn't like.

"I didn't know you-"

"Well, I do," he says gruffly.

"I've never seen you buy any," she says, which means, of course, 'I've never bought you any.'

"I make my own," he tells her. "Pretty simple formula, a little less-" He makes a motion with his hand. "Obvious."

"That shade is terrible on you," she says.

He uncrosses his arms. "What's wrong with it?"

"It doesn't match your skin tone," she tells him. "You could do a different bright green, but not that one."

He gives her a suspicious look. "You're taking this oddly well."

"What's there to take?" she said, shrugging. "This is almost abnormally normal coming from you."

"The rhinestones don't stay on when I put on my socks," he deadpans.

"You'd look terrible with rhinestones," she says, kissing his cheek. "I don't care what you do to your toes, as long as you don't break them."

He gives her a considering look. "Does your manicure guy make house calls?"

She kisses him again. "I'll see what I can do."


	19. Put Asunder - Tony/Pepper

Tony is, for once, not in the workshop when Pepper needs to find him; he's sitting in the living room, watching one of those shows about cars that he likes to argue with. "We need to talk," she says.

He looks at her. "Mute," he says to the television. "You've got the 'It can't wait' look."

"There's a reason for that," she says, sitting down on the ottoman in front of him. "Entertainment Tonight is on the line. Apparently this time we got married in a secret ceremony in the Keys."

"Fucking ET and their fucking bullshit," Tony snarls. "I can't believe this is going on again."

"This is going to keep on going on until we get married, Tony," she says, leaving out the 'or break up' that goes with it. "We need to make a direct statement now. Going through the PR department isn't cutting it anymore."

"I'm not going to marry you," he says, looking her dead in the eye, and she's a little taken aback at how blunt he is about it. "I'm not going to marry you, because then I could _divorce_ you. My lawyer could see your lawyer, and they could sit across the table from each other, and they could have a very polite conversation about the airtight contracts that we signed in advance, and they could get up and shake hands, and we would not be married anymore." He gives her a miserable look, so lost that she doesn't even know what to do with it. "They could _unmarry_ us, Pepper. I'm never taking that chance."

Pepper looks at him, unable to process him, the way that his mind works sometimes. She's pretty sure it doesn't make any sense whatsoever; if it makes any sense, she's pretty sure it's really sad. There's just never any telling with Tony, not at all.

She picks up the phone and taps the screen. "This is Virginia Potts. I have statement. No, you may not use the audio recording of this conversation. Is that clear? Good. Then I'll briefly state that the rumors are untrue." She puts her hand over Tony's. "My partner and I have no intention of marrying. We have nothing else to say about the matter. Goodbye."

She hangs up, and Tony just sits there for a moment, looking at her. "That's kind of a stuffy word, partner," he says finally.

"I just want everyone to be completely sure of how things are," she says.

"If I were going to take you for a secret wedding, it wouldn't be in the Keys," he tells her.

"I hate the Keys," she replies. "I turn into a lobster."

"JARVIS, call the staff in Verbier and tell them we're coming next weekend," he says. He looks at her. "You're going to argue with me."

She shakes her head. "Not this time."

He pulls her forward and kisses her.


	20. Induction - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [dizmo](http://ao3.org/users/dizmo): _C/C. What happens when Clint infiltrates a building that turns out to have normal vents that can’t be crawled around in?_

"Barton," Coulson says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I kept telling you this was going to happen."

"Excuse me for thinking this mission was going to be normal," Clint grumbles, his voice reverberating and muffled at the same time.

"It's everything else that's abnormal," Coulson tells him. "This is what normal looks like."

"If this is normal, then explain to me why one of the most secure bases in the world has vents that you could drive a truck through," Clint demands. "Anybody could get in."

"Those are so you can get _out_ , Barton," Coulson tells him.

"Oh," Clint says. "Right."

Coulson motions his agents onward, leaving him to deal with Clint by himself- Clint, who is currently dangling from a bent section of an exposed duct, his upper body wedged inside while his legs swing.

Coulson really can't help himself; he smacks Clint resoundingly on the ass. "Hey!" Clint says, incensed. "Don't go making promises you won't keep."

"Don't get stuck in vents like an idiot and I'll think about keeping them."

There's a pause. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me, Barton," he says. "Now hold still while I try and pull you down, or we're taking you back to base wearing that duct."

"Will do, sir," Clint says, still sounding a little stunned. Minutes later, they're standing face to face, quite close together, Coulson's hands still on his hips. "I'm not stuck in a vent anymore," Clint tells him.

"I'm thinking about it," Coulson assures him. "Get to the debriefing, specialist."

"Oh, I intend to," Clint says, grinning. "And I'll even talk about the mission, too."

Coulson rolls his eyes; he jumps when Clint swats him on the ass as he heads out.

In fairness, he deserved it.


	21. one for every year he's away - Natasha/Maria, Natasha/Bucky

Maria already has her fingers inside Natasha's cunt, moving them in and out as she sucks a mark onto Natasha's shoulder. Natasha arches towards her as Maria moves down her body, stopping to bite at her nipples; Natasha pushes hard on her shoulder, leading her down farther, right where Natasha wants her, right where Maria wants to be.

She's about to put her mouth on her when she stops, distracted. There is a line of marks, tiny red teardrops that run along the inside of her thigh. They're different styles, different quality, catch as catch can, and the last one is cloudy, maybe a few weeks old. Maria's curious, but she looks away; it's not her place to ask. She puts her hand on Natasha's thigh, her fingertips brushing the line of tattoos, and Natasha moves away sharply, pulling her leg out of Maria's grasp.

"I don't want to talk about it," she snaps.

Maria is more careful this time, staying far below the marks as she spreads Natasha's legs again. "I don't want you to talk about it. I don't want you to talk at all."

When Natasha comes, she bites back a name that isn't Maria's, but hiding it is a pointless gesture. Maria's read the file. She already knows which one.


	22. Crack - Bruce/Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a true story.

Bruce is only looking for an orange when he walks into the kitchen; what he finds instead is Tony, going after the cap on a bottle of liquor with a knife and a pair of pliers. The decorative top is sitting to one side, and Tony is tearing apart the underlayer, bit by bit.

"That's not scotch," Bruce says. "Is that a plastic lid? Are you sure you're Tony Stark?"

"This is Domaine de Canton," Tony huffs, annoyed. "Yes, I am slumming it, and no, I feel no shame, because it is fucking delicious."

Bruce peers at the bottle. "You're doing this all wrong," he says, rummaging in the cabinet. "Do you have a hot pot?" He stops. "Let me try that again," he says, pulling out a plastic bowl. "I forgot where I was. Where's the boiling water tap?"

"The little one on the sink with the red dot on it."

Bruce frowns. "The one that looks like a soap dispenser?"

Tony looks over. "I guess it does look like a soap dispenser."

Bruce fills up the bowl, putting it on the counter. "Hand me the bottle. There's an easier way to do this."

"That's not going to work," Tony says disapprovingly, but he passes it over anyway. "You can't just-"

\--

By the time Pepper gets there, they're deep in argument. The bottle is all but forgotten on the counter; they're paying attention to the schematic that's hanging in the air above them.

Tony looks up, noticing her. She holds out her hand, and Tony frowns at her. She raises an eyebrow, motioning for the bottle. Tony hands it to her, and she takes it in both hands; she flicks her wrist, and it opens with a resounding crack. She sets it down on the counter and just walks away, leaving the two of them staring.

"Are you strangely aroused?" Tony says. "Because I'm strangely aroused."

"I think I need a drink," Bruce says.

Tony pours in the liqueur and picks up the next ingredient for his cocktail; he puts his hand around the cap and twists.

Nothing happens.

They both stare at the bottle.

Tony puts it aside, picking up the next one. "We'll just mix it with some vodka and hope for the best."

"Just like everything," Bruce says.

"I should be offended," Tony tells him, pouring the cold liquor into his shaker. "But it's just so true that I won't even bother." He shakes up the drinks, straining them into two glasses- the majority of it is in Tony's glass, granted, but that's neither here nor there. Tony raises his glass. "To Pepper."

"To Pepper," Bruce says, clinking his against it. "Why isn't Pepper here, exactly?"

Tony frowns. "That is a good question," he says, taking out his cell phone. "To Pepper," he says to the screen. "Drinks. Kitchen. Now. Your fault. End message."

"And now we wait," Bruce says.

"Hopefully not for very long," Tony says, opening the shaker and dumping it before adding fresh ice. "She's going to be snippy when she finds out I drank hers all by myself."

"Better make two, then," Bruce tells him.

"Your brain is so sexy sometimes," Tony says, pouring a double measure into the shaker. "Now drink up."


	23. Juicy - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [bendingwind](http://ao3.org/users/bendingwind): _Tony/Pepper, Tony tries to convince Pepper that she needs to eat more healthy things._

"When was the last time you ate a vegetable?" Tony says, sitting down across from her. "A piece of fruit?"

Pepper looks down at her cheeseburger. "This has lettuce and tomato," she tells him. "And I've got limeade right here." He gives her a look. "You can't say that those aren't fruits and vegetables."

"You are genetically predisposed to be thin as a rail," he says, looking her up and down, "and give my best to genetics, by the way, but this isn't healthy."

"I don't feel like you have any room to talk at all," she tells him. "What did _you_ have today?"

"Blueberry smoothie, ham sandwich, orange, and a popsicle," he replies.

"One, that's doesn't even sound like _enough_ food," she says, "and two, no, you didn't."

"JARVIS?" Tony calls.

"You have omitted one single-serving bag of SunChips, sir, as well as a second popsicle."

"It was those popsicles that break apart, I am a grown man, that equals one grown-man popsicle," Tony says. "The point is, I didn't have Burger King for lunch and dinner today."

"I have work to do," she says. "I don't have time to just-"

"Pepper, I don't know if you noticed this," he says, "but you are, at this point, incredibly successful, incredibly powerful, and involved with one of the most incredible men on the planet. Time and resources are officially no longer an excuse. You could have any food you wanted ready for you no matter where you went. If your schedule changed, it would follow you. You could buy whoever the least annoying person on the Food Network is to arrange for all your meals. It would not be any harder than eating Taco Bell."

"This from the man who only ate a ham sandwich today."

"It was a really good ham sandwich," he argues.

Her phone beeps. "I have another meeting," she says, wolfing down the rest of her burger and wiping her mouth on a napkin.

"At least don't eat all these fries," Tony says, taking the box away and popping a few into his mouth. "They're terrible for you."

"Goodbye, Tony," she says pointedly, standing up,

"You're going to have a heart attack!" he calls after her.

"Only when you give me one," she replies.

\--

It's late when Pepper gets home that night, and what she really wants is to go to bed and sleep for about fourteen hours. She goes directly to the bedroom; when she walks in, the lights are low, candles lit. Soft music is playing, something smooth and atmospheric without sounding like muzak. 

Pepper is instantly suspicious. 

She slips off her shoes and walks to the bed, and she's struck by what she sees. Tony is laid out on a blanket, totally naked; he's covered in delicately arranged bites of fruit, swirls of starfruit, arrangements of apples. The whole thing has been expertly and tastefully done; all the patterns and designs lead up to the arc reactor, which is covered with a slice of ruby-red grapefruit, making it glow a warm pink.

Pepper just stares for a long time. 

"Like it?" Tony says, giving her a seductive smile. "This is Tonytaimori, fruit style."

Pepper shakes her head, snapping out of it. "Tony, what in the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"Like nyotaimori?" She gives him a blank look. "Eating sushi off naked women?" He frowns. "That is way less fun when you have to explain it, and unfortunately I don't see myself having a reason to use it again."

She can't stop staring, but not in the way Tony probably intended. "How did you even- Have you been corrupting the robots again?"

"If the robots are capable of being corrupted, then they're already unredeemable by now."

"I appreciate the fact that you managed to stop yourself from using bananas," she says.

"There are some cut up ones underneath the mangoes there," he says, gesturing with his chin, "but I figured this was too classy an occasion for that."

"I admire the restraint you've shown in outlining your-" she makes a hand motion- "self with kiwi instead."

"But you love kiwi," he says.

"Tony," she sighs, "I have _no_ idea what you thought this was supposed to accomplish-"

"Pepper, I think it is really, _really_ obvious what this was supposed to accomplish," he says. "You don't eat fruit. This is a reason to eat fruit. Eat the fruit." He manages to lift a hand without dislodging the orange slices on his arm and points to his stomach with a finger. "Try a pear. C'mon, they have cinnamon and brown sugar on them."

Pepper sighs. Against her better judgment, she picks up a slice, biting into it. It is, of course, perfectly ripe and delicious, a little warm from Tony's skin. In for a penny, she thinks, trying a bite of pineapple that's resting gently on his collarbone. "It's good," she says grudgingly, taking a piece of mango next.

Tony watches her eat, looking satisfied with himself. He grins, raising his hips. "Kiwi?"


	24. You're Sure - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [ralkana](http://ralkana.tumblr.com) who asked: _Clint/Coulson, running into an ex while together_ and [ereshai](http://ereshai.tumblr.com) who said: _There are two (TWO!!) C/C infidelity fics on AO3 right now. Please, please, please some C/C cuddling and happiness? Please?_

Phil's gotten incredibly good at reading Clint over the years they've worked together, and he can tell something's bothering him just by the way he's sitting. They're on the couch, and some movie or another is on the TV; Phil isn't really paying attention, doing a little work on his tablet while it plays in the background. Clint at the other end of the couch, sitting forward like he's paying attention to the film, but Phil knows quite well that he has no idea what's going on in it.

Phil puts his tablet down, sitting forward and putting his hand on Clint's arm, pulling him over. "Hey," he says, wrapping his arms around him. "What's wrong?"

Clint is stiff in his arms, tense. "Nothing," he says.

"I know something's wrong," Phil says, "and you have to tell me what it is. Mind reading is far above my pay grade."

"Nothing's above your pay grade but Fury," Clint says.

"You think he can't read minds?" Phil asks, and it has the desired effect; Clint huffs a laugh, relaxing a little.

"I was just thinking about that guy we met," Clint says, and now Phil knows what's up. It was a total coincidence, the kind of thing Phil never would have expected. He and Clint had actually found a little time to be off base; they were taking a walk when who should pass them but Mitchell, his ex, who Phil hadn't seen in what must have been ten years. "How did- I mean, why didn't it work with you two?"

Phil shrugs. "Just didn't," he says. "There's no good reason why. We agreed that we weren't compatible, and we went our separate ways."

"Just like that?" Clint says.

"It wasn't easy," Phil tells him, "but it happened."

"Do you miss him?" Clint asks, and Phil can hear the real question behind that, the worse one, the one that would be a slap in the face coming from anyone else.

"Clint," Phil says seriously. "There is nobody I love like I love you. There is no one I have ever loved more than you. I'd die before I hurt you."

Clint sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I just need to hear it sometimes, y'know?"

Phil kisses him. "You only ever have to ask." He pulls Clint closer, tucking him up against his side, right where he can rest his head on Phil's chest, the perfect spot for Phil to play with his hair, guaranteed to make Clint a puddle. Clint relaxes, leaning into him, shutting his eyes as Phil swirls his fingertips through his short hair. They sit like that all afternoon, snow drifting down outside, movie turning into movie into movie, heedless of anything but the two of them, together.


	25. Hard Up - Fury/Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [frizzycrls](http://frizzycrls.tumblr.com): _Um, this might be a bit strange, but I would love to see something involving Nick and Tony arguing with Tony feeling a bit of satisfaction in the arguments only to realize he's getting a hard-on *hides*_

It's not often that Tony can actually get Nick Fury to argue with him. Tony can argue _at_ him all day, but Fury will either bark at him or just walk away, neither of which are the same thing as a good old-fashioned argument, not satisfying at all.

Tony's really got him on the ropes today though, going back and forth with him about Stark Industries' role in rebuilding the Helicarrier. They've been doing this for what must be half an hour, and Tony's aware they've run everyone else out of the room but Maria, who's sitting there watching them, looking faintly amused.

Suddenly, Fury stops responding, and Tony knows he's won; he smiles smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. That's when he realizes that Fury isn't looking him in the face anymore.

He's looking at Tony's pants.

Tony looks down at himself. "It's uh," he says, clearing his throat, trying to decide if it would make it more or less obvious if he buttoned up his jacket. "Side effect of the reactor. Perfectly normal. Nothing to see here."

"It's not new, Stark," Fury tells him, amused; now Maria is flat out grinning, or as close to it as SHIELD agents get. "I have that effect on a lot of people."

Tony rolls his eyes upwards. "Well, that killed it."

"No," Fury says. "It didn't."


	26. Pantone - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [maquisleader](http://maquisleader.tumblr.com): _How about some fluffy pregnant Pepper fic? Tony driving her nuts being overeager expectant dad?_

"I need you to look at paint chips," Tony says intently, sitting down in front of her.

Pepper shifts, sitting up to look at him properly. "What?"

"The nursery," Tony says. "Paint chips." Tony holds up two swatches, green and an infinitesimally darker green. "Which one? JARVIS says the darker one is statistically more soothing, but I think it might be a little too dark? I like the light one, but I worry that it's going to be too strong of a contrast when we put up the dark blue for the ceiling, and we have to use the dark blue, or how else are the constellations going to show-"

"Tony," she says, grabbing him by the shirt collar, her nostrils flaring. "If you bother me for one more instant, I am going to make Bruce find a way for you to carry this baby." He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off. "That was a threat, not an offer."

"You're tense," Tony says, frowning. "Are you tense? You look tense. Don't be tense. It's not good for you." He picks up her foot, putting it in his lap; she kind of wants to kick him until he goes away, but then he's rubbing, strong thumbs working her sore muscles. She sits back again, moaning unashamedly. She's been wanting this all day long, and she's not exactly in a position to do it herself these days. She feels like a tyrannosaurus, huge belly and short little arms.

Her tension is melting under Tony's skilled hands. "Dark green," she sighs.

"Hmm?" Tony replies, distracted.

"I like the darker green better."

"JARVIS," Tony says. "You win. Get the 358."

"Right away, sir," JARVIS says, sounding pleased.

She nudges him with her foot. "Fuck me, Tony."

Tony kisses her ankle. "Was that 'fuck me' the interjection, or 'please give it to me, Tony, because I have totally unpredictable hormones and am incredibly arousing'?"

"Take your pants off," Pepper says impatiently.

"On it," Tony says, standing up and unzipping his fly.

It beats the hell out of talking about paint, that's for damn sure.


	27. Three's Something - Bruce/Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [JeziBelle](http://ao3.org/users/jezibelle): _Because I am predictable: Tony tries to sell Pepper on adopting Bruce. Either in the feed him and give him a lab way or yummy threesome way._

"So can I keep him?" is more or less the first thing that Tony says to her about Bruce, after he and Bruce have actually met and Bruce has come to the Tower.

"He's not a puppy," Pepper says. "Why are you asking me this? This is your building."

"Because you live here," Tony says. "I also live here. The two of us, we live here." He coughs. "Together."

The magnitude of what he's saying is not lost on her. "It doesn't bother me," she tells him, kissing his cheek, and Tony is thrilled, racing off immediately to tell Bruce. It's kind of adorable, really.

\--

That Bruce and Tony have chemistry is obvious to people who aren't even in the same state as them. Pepper realizes it immediately; Tony's latched onto him like he's a teddy bear, and Bruce doesn't seem to have any interest in pushing him away. Maybe she should be jealous, but she isn't. God knows she's used to sharing Tony, physically and emotionally, and he comes back to her, every single time, no matter where he goes.

Where he goes is maybe not surprising, though Pepper is not expecting it. He finds her in the Tower one day, while she's, mercifully, not actually trying to get any work done. "Hey," he says, kissing her in that way he thinks is appropriate for greetings, which is about thirty seconds long and has way more tongue than greeting kisses tend to have. He pulls back, giving her a hopeful look. "Can we have sex with Bruce?"

Pepper blinks. "What?"

"I want us to have sex with Bruce," he repeats, like it reveals more information that his original statement did. "Can we?"

This wouldn't be the first time they've invited someone else to bed, but there's a big gap between random attractive people Tony finds in bars to someone they actually know. "That's kind of a big question, Tony-"

"He isn't your type," Tony says, frowning critically. "Is he your type?"

"Of course he's not my type," she says playfully, trying to duck whatever this conversation is. "He's not short enough."

Tony pulls her sharply forward, pressing their bodies together. "I'll show you short."

The man of the hour, of course, chooses exactly that moment to walk in. "This is a bad time," he says, looking at them over his glasses, somehow managing not to look embarrassed at all. "I should go."

Tony motions between himself and Pepper. "We were just talking about that, actually-"

Pepper elbows him in the stomach. "We'll get back to you."

Bruce gives them both a look like they're very strange, which is probably fair, and walks out again.

"See?" Tony says. "We could have sex with that."

"Have you asked Bruce if he wants us to have sex with him?" Pepper asks patiently.

"Well, no," Tony says. "I mean, I wasn't going to go around propositioning people for threeways without your permission. Not after the last time, anyway."

Pepper is glad to see he's actually learned something for once. "Go talk to Bruce about it," she says.

"Is that a yes or a no?" he says.

"We'll see," she tells him.

He kisses the corner of her mouth. "You know that when you say 'we'll see,' I actually hear 'please bother me until I say yes, Tony,' right?"

"You have no idea how well I know that," Pepper says, sighing.

Tony grins, taking off.

So looks like she's having sex with Bruce. Could definitely be worse.


	28. Longways - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apropos of nothing.

"Stop it, Barton."

Clint pauses, chip halfway to his mouth. "You said you didn't want any more."

"I don't want chips," Phil says, thoroughly annoyed, taking off his headphones and turning away from the surveillance monitors. "I want you to cut it out."

"What am I cutting out?" Clint asks, confused. "Am I chewing too loudly?"

"I can see you eating those chips out of the corner of my eye, and it is incredibly distracting," Phil says. "No one actually eats Pringles longways, Barton."

Clint looks at the chip in his hand. "But they fall apart in your fingers when you eat them short side first," he protests. He grins. "And they know what they say about people who can fit a whole Pringle into their mouth without it breaking."

Phil shuts his eyes. "No, Clint, I do not know what they say about people who can fit a whole Pringle into their mouths. I am fairly certain, however, that if you're doing anything of that nature with someone shaped like a Pringle with a mouth full of salt and vinegar, the capacity of your mouth is the least of your problems."

"You really are the king of all killjoys," Clint grumbles. "See if I put my mouth on _your_ Pringle."

Phil shakes his head, putting his headphones back on. "If you don't stop being a show-off, I'm not going to let you."

Clint sits back in his chair. He takes a Pringle out of the container, slowly and deliberately putting it into his mouth. Phil sighs, turning pointedly away, but Clint already knows he's won.


	29. Brushstroke - Loki/Sif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [coffeesuperhero](http://ao3.org/users/coffeesuperhero).

The runes glisten faintly in the firelight, the ink not yet dry; it's slow to absorb into Loki's skin, so different from parchment even if his back is the same pale shade. The markings for the ceremony must be precise, executed with a deft, steady hand, and it's down to Sif to execute them, line by line by line.

Sif pulls the brush away, holding it so it can't accidentally mar one of the runes already in place. "You can stop squirming, or you can admit just how ticklish you really are."

"I don't see how a falsehood would make this process any easier," he says. Sif slides her hand up his neck, holding him while she starts the next marking. He jumps at the first contact of the cold ink against his skin, but he relaxes as she rubs his neck, working out the tension built from sitting here so long, the stress of trying to stay perfectly still.

The linework on his back is growing, sprawling out from his left shoulder and down; it's not long until Sif has finished, setting the brush down on the tray. "The other side, now," she says, moving back so he can turn around. He spreads his legs wide so that she can kneel between them, run her hands over his chest, up his neck. He shuts his eyes as she traces the contours of his face before taking her hands away, picking up her brush again.

He's even more ticklish on his front, but Sif gentles him, her off hand on his thigh, his arm, a steadying, grounding touch. She resumes the rhythm of her drawing, dipping the brush and moving it across his skin, a spiral for his chest, a set of markings to go around it, signs of the stars. 

His face is the very last to go; there's another brush for that, a small one, the perfect size to trace the careful, delicate designs that decorate his regal face. The dark green ink is bold against his skin, showing him different, showing him for who he is, an amazing creature, a singular thing.

"It is finished," she says, sitting back on her heels and putting the brush away, closing the paintbox before it has time to spill all over the floor. He takes her hand, kissing her ink-stained fingers, one by one. When he releases her, there is a solitary drop of ink on his lower lip, and Sif wipes it away with her thumb before she leans in and kisses him, careful enough not to ruin her hard work, though what she wants is to kiss him recklessly, heedless of what they've done.

She traces her hand through his hair, her nails scratching gently over his scalp as the ink slowly dries, the glimmer slowly fades, the warmth of the fire slowly overtakes them. Too soon, there's a soft knock at the door. "It is time," Hogun says, and Loki carefully stands, giving Sif a last smile as he leaves.


	30. Obvious - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [starmander's](http://starmander.tumblr.com) first line prompt.

She saw it coming a mile away.

There was something different when he looked at her, something tense, almost scared. He was distracted, even more than he usually was, working on something in the shop that he wouldn't tell her about, something he never did; she usually couldn't get him to shut up about whatever he was working on, no matter how mundane or secret. He was persistently on the phone with someone, conversations he consistently cut off as soon as he saw her, and when asked, he had only the flimsiest excuses to offer.

Pepper was aware of what goodbye looked like; Christ, Tony wasn't even being _subtle_. She wasn't precisely surprised, not in the deep, pragmatic part of her, the part of her that made plans and anticipated contingencies, the part that had been the most important until Tony swept into her world and fucked it up, sucked her into his orbit and never let her go.

Until now, apparently.

The other part of her, the one that came back to him every time, the part of her that always _wanted_ , that was the part that made it hurt, hurt so badly that she didn't know what to do. It was a bone-deep, paralyzing pain, one she felt every time he kissed her, put an arm around her in his sleep; every time she wondered if this one was going to be the last one, the last chance she got. She knew she'd pick herself up, move on with her life, but right now she couldn't even fathom how.

She was so close to ending it herself, cutting it off before he had the chance to cut her down, getting at least that tiny victory to carry away. She didn't make it though; she knew when she saw him that day that it had come down to the close, that he was finished.

"I don't really know who's supposed to decide on these things," Tony said, nervous.

"It doesn't matter, Tony," she said, already weary of playing this game. "Anyone can do it."

"Good," Tony said. "That's good, because I already did."

Pepper shut her eyes. "Then I'll just-"

"I'd really love to get down on one knee for you," he said, "but I whanged them both pretty hard during that fiasco last week with the lizard people. I could get down, but I don't really want to do this while I'm moaning in pain." He looked around, spotting a chair; he took her by the wrist, and she let him lead her over, completely dazed. He sat down, arranging her in front of him, positioning her to his satisfaction. 

He took a breath, letting it out in a rush. "Okay," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small metal box. "Okay. Um." He rubbed at his forehead. "Shit, I had something really good, but now I'm blanking." He pressed a little button on the side of the box, and the top swirled open, revealing a diamond ring. "I hope I didn't fuck it up. Did you know jewelry's harder to make than it looks? Or maybe it's just hard to make when-" he waved his hand- "you can't stop your hands from shaking and you won't let your robots help. Same alloy as the suit, conflict-free diamond and everything, I'd like to think I know at least a little of what you like. Shit, I'm stalling." He sighed. "Anyway. I love you, and you should marry me. Because really, it just doesn't get any better than this."

There were tears on Pepper's cheeks, and she wasn't even ashamed or afraid of admitting it, not then. "Yes," she said, voice wavering, sinking to her knees in front of him. "God yes, Tony."

"Thank fuck," Tony said, letting out a breath. He fumbled the ring out of the box, and Pepper held out her hand. He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she wasn't surprised when it fit perfectly; Tony barely remembered what he had for breakfast, but Jarvis knew everything right down to the length of her toes. Tony took her hand in his, staring at the ring. "Looks good on you."

She put her hand on the other side of his face, pulling him down to kiss him. "Of course it does," she said. "It looks perfect."

"My jewelry-making skills are really not on the level of perfection," he said, and she was sure that he could point out twenty-seven different flaws on it.

"It's perfect because it's yours," she said firmly. "Don't argue with me. You're not supposed to argue with your-" She swallowed. "With your wife."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, lacing their fingers together. "I'll try not to. For the first couple years, at least." Pepper tried to say something and couldn't, couldn't do anything but climb into his lap, kissing him fervently, relief and joy and wonder all mixed up in her head.

Pepper never knew being so wrong could be such a blessing.


	31. Man Up - Steve/Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [JeziBelle](http://ao3.org/users/jezibelle): _Steve/Nat, Steve broaching the subject of their burgeoning… thing… with C+C (as a couple if it pleases you)._

"You're very close to Natasha," Steve says nervously.

Phil frowns. "I guess you could say so."

Clint rolls his eyes. "What do you mean, you _guess_? Man up, Coulson."

Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "Is expressing emotion covered under the heading of 'manning up' now?"

"Yup," Clint says, like a challenge.

"Then we're very close," Phil says, shrugging. "I care for her a lot."

"Ditto," Clint says.

"That's good," Steve says. "I mean, uh, it's good that-" He stops, frowning in frustration. "It's just that Natasha is a good woman, and it's important to me that, well, that her friends, they understand my-"

While he's speaking, the lady in question walks in, taking a bite out of an apple and looking around at them.

"Nat, can you tell me what the hell Steve is talking about?" Clint asks her.

"Steve and I are fucking," she says, around a mouthful of fruit.

"Is it good?" Clint asks.

She grins. "Oh yeah."

"Cool," he says, nodding in approval.

"We good?" Natasha asks Phil.

"Of course," he assures her. "Couldn't make a better choice."

While Steve is still sitting there slack-jawed, she gives him a slightly sticky kiss on the forehead. "See? Easy."

"For you, maybe," he says.

"Man up," she tells him, walking away.


	32. The Good Stuff - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [bibliophilecellistsoulsearcher](http://bibliophilecellistsoulsearcher.tumblr.com): _Clint/Coulson- shibari suspension to let Clint fly, perhaps?_

The rope Phil gets is the really good stuff; Clint knows precisely dick about rope, but he doesn't need to. Phil's shown him what the good stuff feels like, and he's never going back. He'd rather never do this again than do it without Phil, do it without someone as fucking amazing as Phil is.

The rope is awesome all on its own, the calm that comes when Phil wraps him up, perfect as a present on Christmas, more perfect than that. All the better because it comes with the soft brush of Phil's fingers against his skin, whispering over him as he completes the ties, securing him firmly, so much strength hidden in the delicacy of it all.

Phil doesn't let him speak, doesn't let him say yes or no. He just ties him up and lays him down, hooks him into the ring and pulley that hang from the ceiling. It takes some doing, and if Clint weren't so calm he'd be impatient, demanding that they get on with it. As it stands he just looks at the floor and waits.

It starts with his arms first, his biceps being lifted from the ground, but his legs are right behind, balancing him out, keeping him from being damaged. It's a slow creep before his belly starts to lift up, and then he's off the ground entirely. He's still rising, rising and rising, as Phil and Natasha pull him up, hand over hand, little by little.

He's almost at shoulder height when it stops, when Phil walks over and puts his hand on the side of Clint's face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. It's a fleeting touch, but it's enough.

Clint shuts his eyes and swears he's flying.


	33. Let It Rain - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [myownknight](http://myownknight.tumblr.com): _established Clint+Coulson quiet rainy saturday afternoon at the office?_

Clint doesn't snore, but very, very occasionally, Phil wishes he did.

In deference to the fact that he's not actually supposed to be working, he's taken his tablet to the couch across from his desk. Clint is sitting tucked up against his side, legs folded under him like he's not a forty-year-old man who wrecks his knees on a regular basis. Phil is only half paying attention to their conversation, focused on his reports, but after a while, it seems like Clint is paying even less.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that Clint is not upset or being standoffish; Clint has fallen asleep mid-conversation. Phil sighs, feeling like a really big, really boring idiot. He puts his tablet down briefly, smoothing his hand over Clint's hair, tugging up the blanket in his lap; Clint makes a contented noise, snuggling closer.

Phil picks up his tablet again. As nice as it is, the proximity, the soft sound of the raindrops hitting the roof, Avenging doesn't wait.

He flips through a few more pages before realizing that he couldn't summarize what he just read if you asked him. He looks over at Clint, still leaning against him, an expression of calm on his face.

Phil puts down the tablet. Maybe he could shut his eyes for just a minute.


	34. Sniff - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [theleaveswant](http://ao3.org/users/theleaveswant): _new vibrator smell_

Perhaps not surprisingly, Tony had no concept of saving packaging for any reason. This particular package was receiving no special treatment, pieces of cardboard and plastic flying as Tony shredded it.

He pulled out the instruction booklet first, looking at it briefly before tossing it over his shoulder; the little fabric case followed it. A little more plastic and he reached the prize. Pepper expected him to turn it on and test it out, but instead he held it up to his nose, smelling it.

She looked at him in concern and confusion. "Did- did you just sniff that?"

"Yeah," he said. He held it out to her. "You wanna?"

"Tony, why are you sniffing a vibrator?" she asked.

"New vibrator smell," he said, like it was perfectly obvious. "It's like new car smell."

"It's a piece of plastic," Pepper said, perplexed. "It smells like plastic."

"It has a very specific smell," Tony insisted. "You have to enjoy it now. I think we all know what it's going to smell like by tomorrow."

"You're terrible," she told him.

"You're in love with me," he returned. "What's that say about you?"

"Many unfortunate things," she sighed.

"Smell the vibrator," he said, holding it up to her face. "Come on. Humor me."

Pepper didn't point out that humoring Tony was the grand theme of her entire existence. Instead she just leaned in, sniffing it. "It-" She stopped. "It does smell really familiar."

"See?" Tony said triumphantly. "New vibrator smell. Remember it for the next time." He looked down at the vibrator. "It might not be long, after what happened to the last one."

"The last one caught fire when you tried to speed it up," she pointed out.

"It was only a bench test," he protested.

"Are we going to use this thing, or do you want to sit around all night smelling it?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"You're the one who made a federal case out of it," Tony said, pulling her towards him. "I just wanted to smell it and move on."

"Then let's move on," she said, straddling his hips.

He flicked the vibrator on. "With pleasure."


	35. Form 69-D - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [bendingwind](http://ao3.org/users/bendingwind), enabler extraordinaire.

"Come in," Fury said at the knock on the door, and Phil stepped inside, holding a blue folder to his chest. "I know that look," Fury said. "Spit it out."

Phil put the form down in front of Fury, sliding it towards him. "I'd like my ass back, please."

Fury raised his eyebrow.

To his credit, Phil didn't flinch when he realized what he'd said. "My apologies. I'd like my asset back."

Fury picked up the folder. "Form 69-D?"

"Yes, sir," Phil replied. "The form states-"

"I know what the damn form states," Fury said. "I'm the one who gave it the stupid name, because such things amuse me." He put the folder down. "Convince me."

"My relationship with Specialist Barton has lasted for eighteen months," Phil said. "In that time there have been no instances of-"

"Do you love him?" Fury asked.

Phil was taken aback. "Sir-"

"Cheese, answer the damn question," Fury said.

"Probably," Phil hedged.

"I need you to be sure about this," Fury said, leaning forward. "You're giving me a form that changes my strategic decisions. I don't have time for your manly bullshit. Barton's not here. Answer. The Damn. Question."

Phil shut his eyes, praying for serenity. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Fury said. He unclipped the pen from the folder, signing the form. "Before you ask, no I am not going to read it," he said, not looking up. "I have better things to do with my life." He handed the folder back to Phil. "Get back to work."

"Yes, sir," Phil said, getting out of there as fast as he could.

Clint was, somewhat unsurprisingly, waiting on the other side of the door; as it shut, he descended on Phil, taking his face with both hands and kissing him.

After a moment, Phil pulled away from him. "You didn't hear the answer yet."

"You were gonna need it either way," Clint told him.

Phil kissed him again. "You may have a point."

"I am gonna need that answer, though," Clint said.

The door opened behind them. "I gave you permission to work together, not to make out in my doorway," Fury said. "Do some fucking work."

"Yes, sir," Clint said.

"Right away, Director," Phil said, taking Clint by the arm and pulling him away.

"Children," Fury muttered, walking back into his office.


	36. DSL - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [bendingwind](http://ao3.org/users/bendingwind), who knows exactly how easy I am.

Clint, Phil decided very quickly, was fucking with him.

As soon as he got back into the surveillance van, Clint dug into the thigh pocket of his fatigues, rooting around until he found a tube of lip balm. He let his mouth hang open, running the lip balm around the circle of his lips over and over, until he'd coated them thickly. He capped it again, sticking it back in his pocket, and rubbed his lips together, tipping his head back and making a satisfied moan.

Oh yeah. Definitely fucking with him.

Clint looked down again, letting out a sigh. He raised his finger to his lips, wiping a bit of excess balm from the corner of his mouth, looking at it briefly before he rubbed it off his fingers. "My God, it was fucking awful," he moaned. "The wind was blowing like fuck the entire time I was up there. My whole face is chapped."

"I think I have some lotion in the truck, if you want it," Sitwell offered.

"Why don't you go get it?" Phil said, and Sitwell looked between the two of them; God bless him, but the man knew how to take a hint.

Sitwell had barely shut the doors behind him before Phil backed Clint up against the wall, his hands on either side of Clint's face to box him in, keep him from getting away.

"What did I do?" Clint asked, looking confused.

Phil looked at his lips, so pillowy soft up close, glistening faintly from the lip balm. "You know exactly what you did."

And then Clint, that son of a bitch, ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "I have no idea at all, sir," he said, looking genuinely puzzled.

 _Does it even matter?_ Phil thought to himself, before he descended on Clint's lips. They tasted faintly of apple, and Phil savored every second of it.


	37. First Class - Phil Coulson/Melinda May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [dizmo](http://ao3.org/users/dizmo): _Coulson/Melinda May. “Just the pilot.”_
> 
> Because Agents of SHIELD isn't out yet and I already ship it.

The first time Phil Coulson sees Melinda May in action, breaking a man's arm on grainy footage from a surveillance camera, he very nearly drops his donut.

The first time he works with her in person, seeing her land a jump-kick to an assailant's face on a mission in Seattle, he ends up sitting through the debriefing with a folder over his lap.

The first time she takes him to bed, doing unspeakable things to him, he realizes she's quite possibly the perfect woman.

"She's just the pilot," he says dismissively, when Ward asks.

"That's the only way we could get Coulson to keep it in his pants long enough to finish the job," she adds, calmly going through pre-flight. Ward chokes, but Phil doesn't say anything. It's not like she's not right.


	38. My Hero - Phil/Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon: _Capsicoul at Hogwarts? maybe Steve defending Phil from some bullies, resulting in Phil's adoration for him? or something else if you want, I don't mind. I'd prefer that both of them be in Hufflepuff, but if you want to put Steve in Gryffindor then that's cool too =)_

"You've got ten seconds to give it back," Phil says flatly.

"Or what?" a mean-looking Slytherin- if that's not a redundancy- sneers. He's got a rook from Phil's chess set held high above his head, high enough that Phil can't possibly reach, and Phil's not going to embarrass himself by jumping for it.

Phil's hand clenches into a fist. "Or you're not going to like what happens."

Just as he's about to punch the thief in the stomach, Phil sees him look up at something, making that face that clearly says he's pretending he's not scared. "What's going on here?" someone says from behind him; it's not an adult, and Phil doesn't relax.

"I got this," Phil almost says, but then the person steps around him. Phil definitely knows him, though only really by name; it's Steve Rogers, one of the prefects from Phil's house. He's tall and very handsome, though Phil sort of remembers him being small. 

"Take your stupid piece," the Slytherin says, throwing it hard, but Phil catches it easily.

"I don't expect we'll have this kind of trouble again," Steve says firmly. The boy looks daggers at Phil, but he shakes his head and runs off.

He turns to look at Phil. Steve's smiling, a friendly, calm, reassuring smile, and he's looking at Phil like nothing else matters, like _Phil_ matters.

Phil resolutely ignores the way his stomach flutters, because it doesn't. Not at all.

"You be careful, okay?" Steve says, bending a little so he can look Phil in the eye. "I bet you can handle yourself, but I don't want you to have to."

"Okay," Phil says. He doesn't like how squeaky it comes out, but Steve smiles again anyway.


	39. But - Tony/Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [allofthefeelings](http://allofthefeelings.tumblr.com): _Pepper/Tony, Tony keeps stopping sex because he has new ideas for how to "borrow" Lola._

"While you're in me is not the time to have this conversation," Pepper says, pursing her lips.

"But Pepper-"

"No, Tony," she says firmly. "That car is Phil's baby, and he knows people who will actually kill you if you touch it."

"I'll be as gentle as a-" he stops. "I don't know a simile for that, actually. Feathers? Gentle as feathers."

"I don't even see why you want it," she says. "You have a dozen cars that are nicer." Tony grins at her evilly. "Oh no. No, no, no. I only agreed to road head on a closed course, and you _still_ slammed on the brakes. We're not doing that in Phil's car."

"Skipping straight to road head?" Tony says, pretending to be shocked. "I didn't know you were so fast. I mean, I was going to suggest racing it, with possible stationary debauching afterwards, and you're over here suggesting highly dangerous things." He grins. "I like it."

She grabs him by the hair. "I need you to either shut up and fuck me or go, because I'm getting off with or without you."

"Fine, fine," Tony says.

"If you so much as think about Lola, I'm leaving," she warns him. "Believe me, I'll know."

"I know, I know," Tony says. "Rest assured, as sexy as she is, I'll always prefer you."

"You better," Pepper says, hooking a leg around his waist. "Now come on."


	40. Perspective - Natasha Romanov/Melinda May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [allofthefeelings](http://allofthefeelings.tumblr.com): _Any chance of Clint/Phil and Natasha/Melinda May? EVER SINCE MING NA’S TWEET I HAVE NEEDED THIS._
> 
> Clint and Phil didn't actually make it in, but here we are. Slight spoilers for Melinda's backstory.

"Age before beauty," Natasha says, sliding down to her knees in one fluid movement.

"You're older than I am," Melinda points out, watching impassively as Natasha undoes the button on her fly, as if there's nothing strange or particularly interesting about the fearsome Black Widow at her feet.

"Still applies," Natasha says, tugging Melinda's tight pants down until they're around her ankles. "You just need to have a different perspective."

"My perspective is fairly good already," Melinda says, looking down at Natasha, mostly down Natasha's cleavage, and Natasha smirks, opening her zipper farther. "What else are you going to do for me?"

"Always straight to the point," Natasha tells her, easing down the thin fabric of her utilitarian black panties.

"I thought that was what you liked about me," Melinda says dryly, lacing her fingers into Natasha's hair as Natasha lowers her hot mouth to Melinda's cunt, licking her slowly. Melinda doesn't hurry her along this time, not when it's this good, the feeling of Natasha's tongue against her. It's been a long time since they did this; it's a long time since Melinda did _anything_ , anything but waste away in an office pushing paper and trying to convince herself that she was still doing the right thing.

It feels so damn good to be back in the game, but right now nothing feels better than Natasha's mouth as she sucks gently on Melinda's clit, sliding her fingers into her and curling them, pressing on just the right spot to make her shake. Natasha's dedicated, fully committed to making it count, to making her _remember_ it, just like she always was, just like she always is.

There's not much chance that Melinda is going to forget.

She comes between one breath and the next, nice and easy and smooth. Melinda sighs, sated; Natasha doesn't kiss, so Melinda settles for running her hand through her hair, the closest to thanks Natasha will let her give.

In moments, Natasha has her set to rights again, her clothes in place, neatly zipped and buttoned. Melinda pulls her up, one arm snaking around her waist as a distraction as her other hand presses against her through her uniform. "Let me give you a hand," Melinda says sweetly, grinding the heel of her palm against Natasha's clit.

"You can give me more than that," Natasha says, pushing on Melinda's shoulder, and Melinda goes.


	41. Inconsiderate - Clint/Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little thing that never actually got finished, which is why it sort of... stops. Sometimes you read a few too many questionable stories and events occur.

The shower was a great choice; their bodies slid against one another so nicely, soap to make it nice and slick. Washing each other was such a wonderful pretext for feeling each other up- not that they needed one, at this point. Phil was presently "washing" Clint's "back" for him, because he was just a sweet guy like that.

Clint rested his cheek against the cool tile, moaning softly as Phil ran his hands all over him. Phil's cock rode along the cleft of his ass, and Clint pushed back against him, wanting it, wanting to make it good for him. Phil's hand slid down Clint's stomach, and Clint groaned as he wrapped his fingers around Clint's dick, stroking him slowly.

Phil gave Clint's ass a playful swat before spreading Clint's cheeks, his thumb stroking over Clint's hole. Clint was just about to point out where the lube was when he felt it- Phil's dick at his entrance, the head pushing its way inside.

"Mother _fucker_!" Clint shouted, jumping away. "What the fuck, Coulson?!"

"What?" Phil said, looking annoyed at having been interrupted. "Are we doing this or not?"

"Were you-" Clint's eyes widened. "You were just going to _stick it in_!"

"That's where it goes, Barton," Phil said, crossing his arms over his chest, the severity of the gesture lessened slightly by the fact that he was naked and wet. "I thought you were clear on the plan."

"Maybe if we talked about it at some point down the road," Clint said. "You don't just shove it in dry on the first go-round without even asking a guy. Maybe you like dry fucking, but some of us like _sitting down_."

"I didn't expect you to make such a big deal out of this," Phil said, like Clint was the one being unreasonable.

"I'm making a big deal out of this because it's a big deal!" Clint said. "Look, I want to get fucked, that's not the issue here, but I'm not going to let you hurt me just because you're not into the prep."

"Prep is overrated," Phil said dismissively. "Just take it like a man."

"You're not fucking me until you learn some goddamned manners," Clint said firmly, turning off the shower.


End file.
